She looked at him. He was sleeping on the mattress, his mouth parted. She picked up the calendar, took her pencil and crossed out another day.

The sight and smell of the breakfast made her feel sick.

But she couldn’t have eaten anyway. She was too on edge. Because today she was going to get out of here.

She pushed the breakfast away.

3

She had a plan. It was simple, but she thought it could work.

When he came, she would attack him.

Which was a start, but it still wouldn’t be enough. She’d learned that the hard way before. He was older now, though, and weaker; she was strong from the press-ups and planks and other exercises. It would be different.

Even so, she was still five-three and about eight and a half stone, and he was six-foot-three and probably sixteen stone. She knew from the times he had lain on top of her how heavy that was, and how hard it was to move that kind of weight.

She’d get only one chance to hit him and it would have to work, or he’d overpower her and take Max anyway and repeat the awful, awful punishment he had meted out last time.

So that one hit had to work. She had to maximize its effect. And for that she needed one more element, an element she thought she might have figured out.

4

The man opened the door. He was holding a tray, and he locked the door, his attention on the key.

When he turned to Maggie, he frowned.

‘What?’ he said. ‘What are you doing?’

Maggie was sitting on the mattress. She smiled at him. Max was sleeping on the floor, his head on a pillow; it had been a struggle to get him to go to sleep.

She stood up. The man’s gaze moved up and down her body.

Her naked body.

‘Put the tray down,’ she said, in the closest approximation she could manage of a sultry tone. ‘I’ve been thinking about you.’

The man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but she could see the sudden flare of desire in them.

Desire for sex, yes, but more for love.

He bent at the waist and placed the tray on the ground and she launched herself at him, hitting him hard in the small of his back. He fell forward and there was a thud as his head hit the wall. The tray fell to the floor, the plate and cup clattering together before settling on to the carpet. She grabbed for the key, but he twisted his hand away and rolled on to his back, staring at her, his breathing heavy. Blood beaded on his forehead. He put his finger to it, and examined his blood.

‘You fool,’ he said. ‘You stupid fool. You really think that is enough to hurt me?’